


I Am A Rock

by lindafishes8



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-18
Updated: 2017-05-18
Packaged: 2018-11-02 05:29:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10937964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lindafishes8/pseuds/lindafishes8
Summary: Why is Illya stoic when it comes to pain?





	I Am A Rock

“I’ve had just about enough of this behavior,” the U.N.C.L.E. surgeon practically growled at his patient.

 

“If you keep refusing to cooperate with your own care, I see no other course than to refer you to one of the staff psychiatrists. Expect a visit this afternoon.” With that said, Dr. Huber abruptly turned and stormed out of the room. He froze in the doorway for only a moment upon hearing what he assumed was a Russian curse hurled his way. 

Illya Kuryakin was left alone with his thoughts. For the most part, he agreed with and followed Dr. Huber’s advice.The doc had pulled him through some fairly serious traumas, but they always came to loggerheads over this particular issue. The pain from the previous day’s surgery to repair his right lung from a THRUSH bullet made it difficult for him to breathe. He steadfastly refused the continually offered analgesic medication and thus the row with his doctor. Preferring to NOT be medicated, Illya found the euphoric effects of morphine too close to the way THRUSH truth serums made him feel and he hated it. Why didn’t Medical understand?

 

A coughing spasm interrupted his thoughts. For the umpteenth time, he curled into a ball being careful of the tubes; pressing his hand over the operative site to brace against the pain. Alarms went off from medical equipment and his nurse, Miss Anderson, hurried in to check on her charge. 

She was two years out of nursing school and recruited to U.N.C.L.E. shortly thereafter. Illya liked her though he’d never tell anyone, especially her; she was intelligent and not afraid to suggest improvements to the staff.

 

“Please keep the oxygen mask over your mouth and nose, Mr. Kuryakin,” she told him as she reset the alarms. Seeing he made no move to do so, she replaced it for him. His coughing eased and he relaxed, exhausted from the episode.

 

“I know it’s uncomfortable, but try to keep the mask in place. It really does help your breathing.” She paused to gently wipe away the tears that escaped his eyes from the spasm. ‘I’ll be back in a few minutes with your breakfast. Think you’ll be able to eat something?” 

 

Illya shook his head. What he really wanted was to sleep after having been awake all night, but the medical staff’s constant checks and, though he wouldn’t admit it even to himself, the constant pain wouldn’t allow him to rest.

 

As soon as the nurse left him alone, the mask came off.

 

MFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUFMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUFMFUMFU

 

Dr. Bates, U.N.C.L.E.’s chief Psychiatrist sat at Illya’s bedside reviewing his medical chart. He took his time and noted the patient’s growing uneasiness most likely caused by his presence. He knew Kuryakin had always been a difficult patient but was determined to get to the root of the problem no matter how long it took. Besides, Illya wouldn’t be going anywhere until the chest tube was removed so he had a ‘captive audience’ so to speak. He glanced up from his notes to witness the ‘Ice Prince’s’ frosty glare. 

 

“So, Illya,” he began, “Tell me about your childhood.”

 

Illya dropped the cool facade, broke into a chuckle and immediately began to cough again. Dr. Bates rose and adjusted the pillows behind his patient so he was more upright, facilitating his breathing.

 

“Don’t… make me… (cough) laugh,” he panted between gasps for air as the spasm subsided. It was a joke between them, this “Tell me about your childhood” ice-breaker and the doctor used it to ease the tension on several occasions. Illya managed a smile.

 

“What are we going to do with you, Illya?”

 

“Let me get some sleep for a start.” 

 

“If you’d only allow the staff to give you some pain relieving medicine-”

 

“You already know my thoughts on that, Doctor. The subject is closed.” Illya’s chin jutted out just enough to suggest he was adamant on this topic. He appeared and felt exhausted, dark circles under eyes, the pallor of his skin and day-old stubble on his face contributed to the overall effect.

 

“Illya,” the doctor began, “humor me. I think we do need to discuss your childhood and uh, shouldn’t that mask be over your mouth?”

 

“No. To both questions.”

 

Dr. Bates sighed. “Listen to me for a few minutes then and I’ll explain my reasoning. I only have your best interest at heart.”

 

He took Illya’s silence as a sign to press on.

 

“Field agents are in and out of Medical on a fairly regular basis and when they are badly injured and in pain, they protest the drugs as well, but there’s a difference between them and you.”

 

Kuryakin folded his arms and waited for the explanation. 

 

“ _ They _ generally end up taking analgesics to give themselves a break from their suffering. They’re able to get the much-needed rest and so they then become active participants in their own recovery.”

 

“Go on.”

 

“Recovery goes more smoothly when the patient is relaxed. Breathing treatments are more effective because they hurt less. I know you haven’t been out of bed yet, but moving and walking, even sitting up in a chair is easier and, thus, you do it more often and your recovery time is lessened.”

 

“I know all this, doctor. What has any of it to do with my childhood? It is an invasion of my privacy and you know how I feel about it.” 

 

“I’m getting to that.” He took a breath. “I sense something is warring within you. You want to be released to recover on your own, but you fight the medicine that will aid you reaching your goal. Returning to active duty is foremost in your thoughts and yet, you can’t seem to realize that the entire medical team wants the same.”

 

“I suspect that somewhere in your past, perhaps as a young child, something happened to you. You were taught that pain was something to ignore, maybe even to hide. I think the lesson was learned so well, you continue to do the same as an adult.” He paused, letting it sink in.  “So what do you think, Illya? Worth pursuing?”

 

Illya was about to protest, but there was a knock on the door, much to the doctor’s chagrin and he rose to open it. He hated these interruptions and they always seemed to happen at the most inopportune times. The staff was aware he was in the middle of a session, so who dared to knock?

 

“Hey there, doc! How goes it with my grumpy partner?” It was Napoleon, fresh off assignment and in a jovial mood until he saw how pale Illya was and the blueish tint to his lips.

 

“About time,” said grumpy partner replied. 

 

“But I’m interrupting, aren’t I? Would you like me to wait until you’re done?” Napoleon apologetically asked the psychiatrist.

 

Before he could answer, Illya spoke up. “No, no; we were just finishing up, weren’t we Dr. Bates?”

 

“Fine,” replied the shrink calmly. Not to be outfoxed by this team, he added “I’ll be back tomorrow morning. Has a nice chat.” That said, he left the room with the chart in hand.

 

When he was gone, Illya smiled, glad to see the doc’s backside and said, “Thank you for that. I assume you knew he was here.”

  
  


Solo nodded and carefully handed Kuryakin a paper bag. 

 

“What’s this?”

 

“Open it and find out.”

 

“A rabbit. You brought me a foil rabbit?” 

 

“A foil covered  _ Côte d’Or chocolate _ rabbit. I was on an assignment is Brussels, after all.”

 

The Russian grinned; his mood brightened. “Thank you. I’ll save this for later.” Illya set the treat on his bedside table and stared at it. Its blue beady eyes seemed to stare back. It was brownish gold with bright pink ears and white whiskers. Not at all similar to the rabbits he and his father had hunted back home.

 

“No problem,” Napoleon took the empty sack and settled himself in the still warm bedside chair.

 

“They’ve told you, I suppose?”

 

“Yes,” Napoleon answered seriously. “I’m glad you came out of it in one piece. Well, mostly in one piece. Want to talk about it?”

 

“No, that fiasco is best forgotten. You can read about it in my written report. When I get around to typing it, that is. How did your assignment go?”

 

Another coughing spasm ensued, setting off the alarms. Illya gasped, curled into a ball again and splinted his wound as two nurses responded. They replaced the oxygen mask, pleaded with him to keep it on and reset the alarms.

 

When they were gone Illya started to pull it off and Napoleon stopped him.

 

“Keep the mask on, partner, it’s a necessary evil. And for the love of God, will you let them give you something for the pain? Why are you being so stubborn? It’s senseless to lie here and suffer. You look like death warmed over.”

 

When he recovered and could speak again, Illya wanted to protest but said only, “for a little while.” He closed his eyes and started to drift off, exhausted.

 

Napoleon tiptoed out of the room, closing the door behind him.

 

MFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUFMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFU

  
  
  


They were in the back corner of a meadow, him and his papa, undercover behind a briar thicket.  It was cold; predawn. Papa had told him they had to get up early and begin the hunt before the sun rose. Illya was so excited to come along on his first hunt. His grandmother made such a delicious rabbit stew,  _ frykase z krolyka _ with onions, potatoes, carrots, garlic and she’s top it with her homemade parsley dumplings. He loved dumplings.

 

Illya remembered every word he had ever been told about hunting rabbits; in order to catch them when they came out of their burrow to feed and warm themselves in the sun, you had to be ready. Rabbits could especially be found along the fringes of fields and roadside cover, where briars and clumps of tall grass provided hiding places near their favorite feeding areas. 

 

He had to be quiet.

 

As they watched and waited, a large brown one appeared. Illya steadied his rifle, took careful aim at the animal's head, and fired. The silence of the hunt was broken by the gun and a loud scream.

 

Illya froze upon hearing it not knowing who was making that sound. Perhaps he had shot a person by accident though he didn’t think so. His father left him and went running towards the source of the noise. “Come on Illyusha, or he’ll get away.” Illya scampered after him, but he was shaking from the excitement and the strange scream.

 

“Rabbits scream when they are frightened or are in pain,” his papa explained. “Hurry, if you want to take him home for supper, you must finish him off.”

 

They followed a trail of blood and in the end, his father fired the killing shot. 

 

“You see, little one if the rabbit had not made any noise, he would have gotten away and lived. By screaming, he let us know he was only injured.”

 

Illya watched quietly as his father gutted the rabbit and placed it in the rucksack they had brought for that purpose. 

 

“May I carry it back?”

 

_ “Tak,  _ _ molodyy myslyvets.ʹ  _ (Yes, young hunter) I know the scream frightened you, but remember your first hunt. It may save your life one day.”

 

“How, Papa?”

 

“When you are injured, keep quiet. Bring no attention to yourself. Predators hear the sound of pain and go for the kill. It’s their natural instinct. When the army is fighting, I and the other soldiers listen for any sounds the enemy might make, such as moaning from pain. It helps us find our enemy and defeat him.”

 

“You mean the Germans don’t you, Papa?”

 

_“Tak,_ _miy syn._ (Yes, my son) Now hurry along so you can get ready for school.”

 

Illya woke from his dream. Napoleon’s chocolate rabbit had brought back the pleasant memory of spending time with his father. And while he hated to admit it, Dr. Bates had been right.

  
  


MFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFUMFU

  
  


“You’re looking much better this morning, IK.”

 

Illya only scowled and finished his last bite of breakfast.

 

“Mmmm, oatmeal,” Napoleon teased.

 

“I happen to enjoy oatmeal,” the patient answered after he swallowed a sip of coffee.

 

“Breakfast of champions!” 

 

“I thought ‘Wheaties’ were the breakfast of champions?” Illya pushed the tray table away.

 

Napoleon smiled.

 

“Nurses tell me you asked for morphine last night. Can it be true?” He clasped his hands together dramatically.

 

“Yes, Napoleon. It helped me sleep and I was finally able to use the blow bottles* this morning, much to Dr. Huber’s delight.”

 

“Good, good. So, is the shrink stopping by today?”

 

“Been and gone. No more sessions, at least with this medical stay.”

 

Solo looked over at the chocolate setting on the table next to the bed. The foil had been peeled down and the head was missing.

 

“What have you done to the poor bunny? You’ve chopped his head off!’”

 

Illya glanced sideways at the chocolate.

 

“I had a craving for rabbit in the middle of the night… with dumplings.” Illya grinned.

 

“Huh?”

 

“Never mind, Napoleon. Never mind.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> *Blow bottles were used as a respiratory treatment in the1960s and 70s. The patient had to blow the blue colored water from one bottle into the other and back again. They helped keep lungs fully expanded, to help prevent pneumonia.
> 
> A/N In the dream, my characters are speaking Ukrainian, as Illya was born and spent his early years there, in my MFU universe.


End file.
